


he's good and he's bad (and he's all that i've got)

by chemicalpixie



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood, Character Death, Domestic Violence, Dubcon Kissing, Eye Trauma, F/M, Hanging, Implied Sexual Content, Mind Control, Occasional Italics, Power Imbalance, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-23
Updated: 2016-10-23
Packaged: 2018-08-20 00:07:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8229419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chemicalpixie/pseuds/chemicalpixie
Summary: “she stood beside him at every killing, her face paint carefully applied. they called her the impostor at first, for she was a woman and a lowblood and yet she still wore juggalo paint. but abbron swore to kill anyone who called her that, so they took to calling her his disciple. she didn't mind, of course. she was more his than she was anything else.”or; the disciple is a follower of the wrong messiah.





	

**Author's Note:**

> recommended listening : the devil's backbone by the civil wars and my sweet prince by placebo  
> yes i know her name doesn't follow the naming convention (and canonly it's probably meulin) but please consider that i don't care

he was dark, tall and handsome, with spiraling horns that added an extra boost to his height he didn't quite need. she was small, or at least, smaller than he, and she had to stand on her tiptoes to be able to see into his eyes.

the first time they met (she'd been hunting, wild on the moors near the hive where she'd been raised with her meowbeast lusus, and he'd been roaming the moors, blood on his clubs and a haunted look in his eyes), he looked down at her, and she was sure he'd kill her right away - the juggalo cults were known for their violence towards the lower castes, after all - but instead, he asked for her name, in a gruff and bored tone that somehow conveyed his extreme lack of remorse in case he should he get bored and decide to kill her.

“um. orlanna. orlanna leijon.” he nodded at her then.

“my name is abbron makara. come with me.” and orlanna, too afraid to refuse him for fear of her life, followed him.

//

she'd been so afraid that he would kill her, but he instead had her watch. which, in a way, was almost worse. she was to watch, and to write down who he killed, and when, in case her imperious condescension came knocking. when he was done, he would sit back down on his chair (it was royal and regal and could have been called a throne, had it not been treason to even imply someone other than her imperious condescension could sit on a throne), looking at her with eyes that suggested he was contemplating killing her.

“what'd you think of that one?” he asked her, in a bored tone.

“that certainly looked very painful,” she responded. he said nothing else. he simply smiled.

//

“would you like to try it?” abbron asked one day.

“try what?” she replied, trying to appear confused as terror shot through her heart.

“this,” he said, gesturing to his makeup. “the face paint.”

“oh - um. of course, if you'd like me to,” she responded.

“you know that ain't the question i asked, orlanna,” he muttered. “do you want to fucking try it?” he asked again, his voice low and hard and sharp. his eyes flashed a little.

“yes.” did she have any other choice?

he put it on her gently, painting sharp triangles out of white that contrasted with the oily black he'd already smeared on her face. his thumb stopped on her lip and lingered there. he tilted her head up and then his lips met hers. the vision blurred in the corners of her eyes. her heartbeat stopped. she couldn't feel anything but him.

//

she became more to him after that, more than just his wild slave he'd taken off the moors, more than the scribe who huddled by the side of his chair in fear. she stood beside him at every killing, her face paint carefully applied. they called her the impostor at first, for she was a woman and a lowblood and yet she still wore juggalo paint. but abbron swore to kill anyone who called her that, so they took to calling her his disciple. she didn't mind, of course. she was more his than she was anything else.

//

“orlanna,” he began one day, as a lowblooded prisoner trembled in front of them. “kill this lowblooded scum.”

“but, abbron - ” she started, but he cut her off. her heart pounded in her chest, and she could almost hear it beat.

“enough, orlanna,” he said sharply. his eyes grew hard. she took the club from him, fingers trembling. “now. kill the lowblooded son of a bitch.”

the edges of her vision grew shaky. her world grew silent. she hit the lowblood over and over. and over and over and over and over and then her heartbeat pounded in her ears again _oh god make it stop his blood was all over her his blood his blood his blood -_

and then abbron was holding her.

“it'll be all right, orlanna. you did so good.” he held her hand up to his face, and it left a smear of mustard colored blood. “i'm so proud of you,” he whispered, and something bloomed in orlanna's chest.

//

he shoved her against the wall, and kissed her, hard, smearing both of their face paint, leaving silhouettes against the dried blood and bruises painted up and down her back that lasted for days. he touched her in ways that she'd never been touched before and oh, god, how it hurt, but sometimes it left her with the best feeling she'd ever had, and all the while, his face held a bored expression of both indifference and control. he left his face paint smeared on the inside of her thighs and she left scratches up and down his back that oozed dark purple into his shirts for days afterward. she was never more sure that she loved him than when she heard him praying - no, it wasn't _praying_ , it was _screaming_ , _pleading_ , it was _invoking_ his _gods_ \- as she kissed him.

//

there was a trio of lowbloods brought in soon after. there was a psionic, his horns sparking red and blue, reflecting off the still-wet smears of blood, and a mutant, with bright red blood and a defiant face. the third was not a lowblood at all, but a jadeblood, escaped from the caverns, and though she held her head high, she was worried. orlanna could see it in her eyes. this group had been wanted for days, and they introduced themselves to abbron as “the psiioniic, the dolorosa, and the signless”. abbron had already been ordered to send the psionic straight to her imperious condescension, and so abbron tied him up, bruising the little guy so he wouldn't get any bad ideas, and sending him off with the two most devoted members of his cult. he whispered his plans for the other two late in the hours of the day when they lay together, fresh scratches and bruises and bitemarks aching, as their eyes grew heavy with sleep.

“they say the jadeblood is like the mutant's lusus,” he whispered, his breath warm in her ear.

“what will you do with her?” she murmured back.

“we'll kill that motherfucker and make her watch.”

//

his execution was scheduled, and when it finally came, they dragged the mutant and the jadeblood into the cavernous grand hall, with the walls covered in blood and the ceilings too tall to be seen in any kind of clarity.

the mutant said nothing, and the jadeblood simply looked tired. she was ready for her death. abbron stood in front of his chair, looking _tall_ and _dark_ and _imposing._

“orlanna.” he nodded to her, and she looked over to him, rubbing the bruise he'd left on her wrist the other night. she could almost imagine it was his touch on her again. “you do it.”

“of course, abbron,” she replied, picking up the clubs that were painted in her own shade of green to mark them as hers, and approached the mutant. the jadeblood screamed. the guards let go of him. not that it mattered. he couldn't do much with his hands roped behind his back. he looked at her, almost daring her to defy abbron. she pushed him down to his knees, keeping one hand on his shoulder to steady her other hand. the jadeblood weeped and screamed for her not to hurt him, please. she'd do anything. orlanna smiled. she raised her club. and then she brought it down on the mutant's head, over and over until nothing was left of him but a bloody mess of candy-red blood staining their floor. the jadeblood collapsed, sobbing, and then she ran. she stole the only thing left of the mutant - from what orlanna could tell, it was a cloak of some kind, originally grey but now stained red with his blood - and ran. orlanna moved to go after her, but abbron steadied her.

“let her go,” he said, and everything relaxed. the edges of her vision blurred slightly and her heartbeat wasn't pounding anymore. “that motherfucking bitch won't last a week.”

//

there were _whisperings_ , there were _murmurings_ , there were rumors running rampant throughout abbron's ranks of another woman who worked with him. she was a tealblood, a legislacerator who was being sent as one of his agents to bring the criminals and lowbloods to justice. orlanna first met her when she dragged a rustblood in who was kicking and screaming that he was innocent. the tealblood's horns were tall and looked sharp enough that orlanna imagined she could impale someone on them. the tealblood noticed her watching and dropped the rustblood, kicking him in the nose for good measure. she walked over to orlanna and leaned against the wall near where she was standing.

“so you're the one they call the highblood's disciple, then?” the tealblood asked in a voice that sounded slightly amused.

“yes,” orlanna responded, careful to keep her voice level. “what do they call you?”

“the people who are scared of me call me the neophyte redglare,” the neophyte said. “the people who aren't call me verena.”

“which am i?” orlanna asked.

“that's for you to decide,” the neophyte said, smirking. and then, she noticed the rustblood trying to run. she walked back over, hauling the rustblood up by his bound wrists. the neophyte slammed his face into the wall, leaving the rustblood's face dripping with blood and already starting to bruise and as she dragged him away, orlanna could swear she still heard the echo of the rustblood's screams even when she knew he was long gone.

//

and then the orphaner came. he was long renowned, both for what he had done that had earned him his title and for his millions of romantic conquests.

“the grand highblood, sir,” he said, bowing, despite his caste being higher than abbron's own. his cape swept the floor and its edges become wet and shiny with the slick blood.

“orphaner.” abbron regarded the man with a hard gaze. “orlanna and i are always pleased to have your presence with us, but may i ask why it is you have come?”

“well,” he began, his eyes careful. they swept over orlanna, and she felt a deep chill sweep through her body. “my kismesis has cheated on me. i want _revenge_.” the last word bit hard and sharp, and orlanna could tell that her cheating had been the highest form of betrayal.

abbron laughed. “there ain't much we can do, orphaner. we aren't in the business of helping trolls get revenge. we punish wrongdoings.” the refusal was highly calculated. orlanna could tell that he was trying to push the orphaner to his limits.

“my kismesis is the great pirate marquise spinneret mindfang,” dualscar said. “you can't tell me she hasn't done wrong.”

abbron's face relaxed slightly. “that she has. i'll send my best after her in the morning. in the meantime, won't you join us to eat?” it was a politician's offer, smooth and slick, and orlanna knew nothing good could happen should the orphaner refuse.

“but of course,” the orphaner replied. years in the service of her imperious condescension had left him the ability to navigate the most loaded situations. “i would be practically honored.” and, orlanna noted, it had made him a very good liar.

//

they sat down at the high table to eat that night, and the orphaner looked as imposing as ever. he had brought a lusus, some kind of meowbeast, and it reminded orlanna painfully of her own lusus, who she'd never come home to. the orphaner's breath stank, and orlanna recognized the scent on his breath as the scent that wafted from the casts of blood-colored liquid that they kept in the dungeons. the liquid that made her head feel fuzzy and left her feeling broken and sore when she awoke the next morning, unable to remember what happened the previous night.

“your lady's real pretty, highblood,” the orphaner slurred.

“i'd watch yourself, orphaner,” abbron said firmly. his eyes were dark and flashed with anger. “you're venturing into real dangerous territory.”

“but just look at her,” the orphaner almost whined then, and he put his hand on her face gently, stroking her as though she was a doll. her face paint smeared down her face and onto her neck and his hand. orlanna tensed. “she's too pretty to keep all to yourself.”

“orphaner.” it was a warning.

“just give me one night with her. i promise i won't give her back broken,” the orphaner leered. he leaned into orlanna, and his breath reeked. abbron stood up, his clubs in hand and his eyes dark.

“you sure as hell won't give her back broken. you won't have her at all,” he snapped. “you won't touch her.”

the orphaner paled in fear. his gun had been left with his things in his room. abbron loomed over him. and then, with two swift strokes, the orphaner was gone. his blood leaked on the floor.

“come on, orlanna,” abbron said. “let us leave this bastard to rot.”

//

he kissed her hard enough that her lips bled, and there was an ashy taste on his lips, but she didn't mind. she loved him. he loved her. they spent days without eating, because they were only hungry for each other. they were the only things that they needed. they would lay in bed for days and sleep in the blood and fluid. and when they weren't sleeping, they kissed each other and he left her lips olive-green with bloody scabs and he carved his symbol into her thigh to mark her as his. and her face paint marred his stomach and his legs and mixed with his own face paint, and they woke up sticky and with paint smeared across the stained sheets and she'd never been happier.

//

the next time orlanna saw the neophyte, she had a ceruleanblood by the hair. the ceruleanblood's nose was broken and bleeding, and her hands were bound behind her back.

“well, well, well,” abbron boomed. “who is this?”

“the grand highblood, sir,” the neophyte began. “this is marquise spinneret mindfang. i have captured her as you wished.”

“please, call me abbron, verena,” abbron said, smirking. “you do usually.”

the marquise grinned saucily. “ooooooooh, you two know each other?”

“we've met,” the neophyte said sharply, her face turning slightly teal.

“don't be so shy, verena,” abbron said. orlanna felt her vision blur and her heartbeat sped up but then she couldn't feel it anymore and the room got quiet. the neophyte dropped the marquise. she'd obviously known this was coming as she managed to stay reasonably well balanced. the neophyte walked over to orlanna, took orlanna's face in her hands and kissed her. orlanna kissed back, and then her heart pounded in her ears and the neophyte pulled away.

“mindfang,” abbron snapped. the marquise only smirked. “take her away before she can cause any more trouble,” he said more quietly to the neophyte.

“of course,” the neophyte replied, bowing and grabbing the marquise's cuffed hands and forcing her to walk away.

“oh come on,” the marquise crowed. “you have to admit it was hot!”

orlanna turned to abbron. “i'm so sorry abbron,” she said, almost whispering.

his face was stony. “she was controlling you, orlanna. it wasn't your motherfucking fault.”

“i'm still so - ” she began, starting to apologize again when he kissed her. it was hard. it was the type of possessive kiss that said she was _his_ , and that he wanted everyone else to know it.

//

the body of the orphaner still slumped, rotting, in the feast room. she couldn't enter the feast room without remembering the feel of his hand and the smell of his breath and it haunted her. she'd been trying to move the orphaner when something had stopped her. her vision blurred slightly, and the sound of her heart was lost in the silence of the cavernous room. she turned carefully. abbron stood in the doorway.

“orlanna,” he began. “what in the name of hell do you think you are doing?”

“i was moving him,” she whispered carefully.

“why?” his eyes became dark.

“it reminded me of him. the orphaner. the feel of him on me,” she replied softly.

he strode over to her, anger evident in his long strides. “don't you dare touch him,” he said, soft and powerful and controlled. he didn't move for a second, and then, all of a sudden, she was on the ground. her face ached. he'd hit her. she let out a small strangled noise. her heart pounded in her chest. “you won't touch him,” abbron repeated. “he is there as a lesson.”

orlanna nodded.

“i didn't hear you. do you understand me?” he growled.

“yes. i understand,” she said.

“good,” he said, turning on his heel and stalking out of the room.

//

he brought the marquise up into the grand hall for her punishment. he'd explained it to orlanna that previous day when she'd asked what would become of the marquise.

“she will be punished. i cannot let her do what she has done and walk away unscathed.” the marquise stood before abbron, eyes defiant.

“so, did you miss me?” she asked, smirking. abbron's face was like stone. the neophyte stood to abbron's other side. she didn't react.

abbron gestured to his guards, and they slammed the marquise onto her knees. one of them held out her left arm, one held her right shoulder down, and another held up the marquise's sword. it was a glittering blue, hooked at the end to catch whoever was impaled and rip a hole through them as it came out. the marquise smirked. the sword was raised high above the guard's head. abbron did not move. he didn't react. there was nothing in his eyes. the neophyte's eyes _glittered_. the sword came down, and orlanna could see a glimmer of fear in the marquise's eyes right before her own sword severed her arm from her body.

//

there were signs, of course. there was the sharp scent of teal splattered across the bedsheets. but wasn't positive until she saw them for herself. the neophyte was pressed up against the wall as abbron held her there by her neck. his throat was smeared with teal, and his hand was shoved up her skirt. her leggings puddled around her ankles and abbron looked completely in control. the neophyte grinned.

“aren't you worried your precious disciple will find us?” she rasped.

abbron laughed. “she's too stupid of a kittybitch to ever find us.” orlanna fled from the sight of the two of them.

//

abbron's eyes were filled with a stony rage. the marquise has tipped him off to the fact that the neophyte wore a necklace that symbolized the young mutant redblood, the one who preached equality that orlanna had killed. she was on her knees now, in front of him.

“do you understand the crimes which you have committed?” abbron boomed, and orlanna could see the fear in the neophyte's eyes.

“i...” she began. fear flickered in her eyes. “i do.”

“then why have you committed this betrayal of everything i - no, we, stand for?” abbron asked, in the tone that implied there was no possible answer that could make him satisfied.

“he was only a boy. he didn't even have a trial. there was no justice! please, abbron,” the neophyte pleaded.

“you and your precious justice,” abbron sneered. “and,” he added, “you will address me as the grand highblood, midblooded scum, or you will not address me at all.”

“please, the grand highblood, sir,” the neophyte begged. “i will destroy it. i will do anything you ask of me.”

“anything?” abbron asked, voice hard.

the neophyte swallowed hard. “anything.”

//

the marquise held the hot poker in her remaining hand. the neophyte was on her knees. her cheeks were stained with teal, and what was left of marquise's left arm was wrapped in cerulean stained bandages.

“this is what you get,” the marquise hissed softly before shoving the poker into the neophyte's eye. the neophyte screamed, howling in pain and orlanna could smell her burnt flesh. she collapsed, her head hanging low. the poker was covered in charred flesh and teal blood was oozing from the now empty eye socket.

“i'm not done with you yet,” the marquise whispered, almost lovingly, and orlanna could tell she was enjoying this. the marquise passed the poker off to a guard and grabbed the neophyte's chin, hauling her up. the marquise let go, and grabbed the poker again before shoving it into the neophyte's other eye. the neophyte screamed again, teal blood leaking from her face and the flesh around her now empty eye sockets black and peeling.

“you can't see justice now.” abbron chuckled slightly.

“you deserved it,” the marquise hissed before dropping the poker. it clattered on the ground and landed in a puddle of teal blood.

the marquise walked up to abbron. she bowed, sweeping her coat up off the floor.

“the grand highblood,” she began.

“please, call me abbron,” he said.

the marquise smirked. “as you wish,” she said. “you may call me nisasa.” abbron inclined his head slightly, acknowledging her gesture. the marquise approached him, coming up to him and kissing him on the cheek. orlanna held her breath, but abbron just smiled.

the marquise turned to orlanna. “the disciple,” she said, reaching out and kissing orlanna's hand before dropping it quickly.

“well,” the marquise said, “i’m off to get a new arm from some troll. he’s a blueblood; heard he’s amazing. thank you for your mercy.” the last part was added hurriedly, as though she was afraid if she didn't say it abbron would drag her back and kill her too. abbron only smiled as he watched her walk away, before turning to the neophyte. she was still whimpering in pain, lying on the ground pathetically.

“why should i spare you, midblooded scum?” he asked harshly, all trace of former pleasantries gone.

“please,” the neophyte whispered. “please, the grand highblood sir, please. i let mindfang blind me, as you asked. please don’t kill me.”

“are those good enough reasons, orlanna?” he asked, turning to look at orlanna. she fought to keep her face composed. “or should we kill the motherfucking bitch?”

her mind immediately flashed to the picture of the two of them in the hallway, his fingers up the neophyte’s skirt and his hands on her neck and her mouth on his neck. “kill her.”

“well, there you have it, verena,” he sneered, her name coming out a twisted snarl. “you’re going to hang.”

//

the neophyte’s execution took place on the balcony. her face was still charred and blackened from the marquise’s torture, and teal scabs marred the area around her eyes.

“we are gathered here today,” abbron began to the sea of his followers that had gathered to watch. the crowd was a haze of black and white facepaint and it made orlanna dizzy to look at it too long. “to watch the great neophyte redglare’s death. she has not only betrayed me, but she has betrayed all of us by harboring an artifact that symbolized the lowblood revolution. and for this sin, she has been blinded and sentenced to death.” he gestured at the guards to bring her forward, and they shoved her up onto the platform underneath the noose. abbron stood up himself and placed it around the neophyte’s neck. he smirked, and the neophyte held her head up as much as she could.

abbron pulled the lever back and she lost all semblance of dignity. her long-nailed hands scrabbled at the noose around her neck, trying to find a way to loosen it so she could breathe. abbron watched her struggle with amusement. the rope dug into her neck. the neophyte’s hands dropped to her sides. she’d stopped struggling. dark bruises began to form on her neck.

it took the neophyte a long time to stop breathing. when she had, abbron walked off the balcony and orlanna followed him. she knew what he was doing. he left the body there to rot so everyone would knew what defying him was like.

//

they were awoken one day when one of abbron’s guards stormed into their room.

abbron grabbed the blueblood by the hair and held him to the wall. “why have you dared to awaken me?” he thundered.

“there is a messenger from her imperious condescension here for you,” the blueblood gasped. “he wanted to see you right away.”

abbron tossed the blueblood aside. “come, orlanna. let us see what she desires.”

the messenger was waiting in the grand hall. abbron dismissed all other guards with a look, and then he leveled his gaze at the messenger.

“speak, pissblood,” he commanded with a wave of his hand.

the mustardblood cleared his throat. “her imperious condescension has been informed that your ranks of subjugglators houses a lowblood. her imperious condescension wishes that you kill her personally, and will arrive in sixty hours to witness it herself and to make sure you carry out her will.” abbron’s face was hard. he walked over the the messenger and hit him. the messenger collapsed to the ground.

“hurting me will change nothing,” the messenger gasped, holding his hands up to protect himself from further harm.

“insolent lowblood,” abbron snapped, before slamming the messenger's head into the wall until the floor was covered in mustard-yellow blood.

//

her imperious condescension arrived sixty hours later, as promised. she strutted into the grand hall, and orlanna was _awed_. her hair fell long and wild behind her, and her shining golden trident didn’t have a scratch. she’d heard the rumors about it (that it wasn’t made from gold, it was made from the melted horns of trolls she’d murdered, that it never missed, that it always knew its target). abbron had made orlanna remove her face paint only hours earlier, and she felt vulnerable and exposed without it. her imperious condescension walked over to stand next to abbron.

“abbron,” her imperious condescension said coolly. “you’ve found the lowblood, as requested.”

he nodded, steel in his eyes. “yes.”

“good,” she said, reaching over to him and patting him on the cheek. “kill her.”

his face hardened. “okay.” orlanna’s heart clenched in fear. her heart raced.

then it slowed suddenly, and the edges of her vision blurred. she walked to stand in front of abbron, and he handed her her clubs. she took them. she slammed one of them into her head. she could feel her own olive-colored blood dripping down her face and into her eyes and mouth. she slammed the olive-stained club into her head again. there was a dull ache in her skull, but she slammed the club into it again almost mindlessly. and again and again and again and again and again and suddenly her heart was racing and her knees gave out from under her and she collapsed to the ground. the blood dripped into her eyes and she couldn’t see anything. she could hear abbron and her imperious condescension talking quietly. her eyes burned with tears. she imagined him touching her, him kissing her, his smell and the feeling of his arms around her. she wanted him to hold her. she wanted him to hold her she wanted him to hold her _she wanted him she wanted him she wanted him she_ -


End file.
